


Puzzle Pieces

by martyrpipedreams



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Neil's missing some pieces, Self-Harm, anyways I'm venting rip, but so is andrew, so maybe they'll be fine, still bad at tags brutha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martyrpipedreams/pseuds/martyrpipedreams
Summary: Pain was not new.Not when his father scarred him, not when the flesh on his torso was torn away, bloody and staining the asphalt crimson. Not when Lola burned his face and his arms and carved memories into his hands. Not when he had to burn his mother and bury her bones in the sand.Or, in other words, I make a sad vent piece and end it with something happy because I'm a stickler for happy endings that taste like salt water.TW: Moderately graphic self-harm.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101





	Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This piece had moderately graphic descriptions of self-harm. Please do not read this if you are not safe around this subject. 
> 
> This is a vent piece so it might seem a bit rushed. I did manage to make the ending as happy as a piece like this can handle. I struggled a bit with emotion but then I realized, "Wait. These characters... They don't f e e l like most people do. They don't cry, they don't shed tears for their pain. They exist through 1's and 0's of anger and panic." So that definitely made it a lot easier. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> P.S.: If you ever, ever feel like you're alone or going through something hard enough that you resort to self-harm or suicide, please feel free to talk to me or contact the number below:
> 
> SUICIDE PREVENTION LIFELINE:  
> 800-273-8255
> 
> TREVOR PROJECT HOTLINE:  
> 1-866-488-7386
> 
> Of course there are more life lines you can call, including family and friends because they help us as much as professionals sometimes. Please contact someone if you are not okay.

Pain is not new. 

It is familiar and biting and for some reason, Neil begins to welcome it. 

First, it starts with Exy. As does everything in Neil's life apparently. He gets reckless, a punching bag on the court. He takes hits he can easily dodge, forces himself to keep his expression neutral when a collision leaves his ribs screaming in silent pain. Kevin yells at him for trying to get himself hurt and Wymack threatens to bench him. Abby frets by his side after games, asking if anything hurts and he has to push past her and say, "No, no, I'm okay." Because he's not allowed to say _I'm fine_ anymore.

Then, in no time at all, it progresses into something much more destructive. He drinks. He drinks and drinks and drinks until he blackouts and only wakes up to leave his stomach in the toilet.

Andrew nearly broke his jaw the first time he came home and found Neil passed out on the kitchen floor, an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. He could still remember the way it burned his throat as he poured it down, _down_ , **_down_**. 

Andrew didn't speak to him for a little while. That hurt more than his bruised jaw.

Pain was not new. 

Not when his father scarred him, not when the flesh on his torso was torn away, bloody and staining the asphalt crimson. Not when Lola burned his face and his arms and carved memories into his hands. Not when he had to burn his mother and bury her bones in the sand. 

Not now, either. Andrew would do more than break his jaw if he could see him right now, hunched over the bathroom sink with the sharp of a razor blade sunken in the inner flesh of his wrist and then higher, towards the bend of his elbow. It burned, stung, and his body screamed for him to **stop** but he _couldn't_. His blood spilled over the scars that already existed there; his blood was bright and harsh against the white of the counter top too. He thought it was a sick and ugly painting that he left behind. Andrew would agree.

He found it funny that while he let a blade carve through his skin, splitting flesh from its place, that he could only think of Andrew. 

Stupid, angry, beautiful Andrew. 

Y'know, when he first met Andrew, he wanted nothing more to punch him in his face, a face that held a smile that was only brought forth by the workings of medication and drugs. After the rooftop though -- or maybe before, he wasn't sure -- he noticed things. Little things. Big things.

The way Andrew always sat slightly angled towards the most important person in the room; Kevin, Nicky, Aaron, Renee, even Neil. Or maybe the way his arms were the most muscular thing on him but his stomach was soft from too little core exercises and too many cartons of ice cream. Kevin would freak if he knew that Neil liked to sneak Andrew an extra carton after classes. They'd sit in Andrew's car and eat through it, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Sometimes they just sat in silence, eating ice cream like they were the most normal people on earth. 

They were far from that though, right? Andrew was well, he was… not broken, just sort of hollow in some places. In lots of places. He was an emotional void but sometimes, oh so rarely, Neil could catch glimpses of what could have been. The slight tilting of his lips when Neil would say something a little too stupid. The brush of his fingertips against Neil's wrists, up his arms, and back down. Gentle, soft. Different from the knives that he still kept tucked into his armbands. 

He wasn't broken, he was just undeniably missing some pieces and Neil didn't mind. 

Neil didn't mind because he was missing a few pieces too -- just not so many. His mother had been a piece. His father had been too, a burned and bloody piece that he quickly put back in the box the first time he touched it. Andrew was a piece, the Foxes, Abby -- even if sometimes he didn't like her. The zombies were a piece, an oddly happy memory. Hell, even Riko Moriyama was a piece. Neil had put that one away too. 

The binder he hadn't touched in months was a piece too. Many pieces actually. Every name he had ever gone by became a piece that didn't fit into the puzzle any longer -- the only name that stayed was Neil. Neil Josten. 

That's why pain was not new. Because, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it came back. In the form of nightmares or memories, puzzle pieces. 

Neil did not want to die. Though one might suspect he wanted to by the mess he'd made of his arms. They were bloody and in his haze of thoughts, he'd etched one too many wounds into his sun-kissed skin. They would heal if he let them, but he suspected they'd bleed more than they had today, tomorrow. He fumbled with the faucet for a moment, bloodied fingertips slipping on the smooth surfaces. When the water finally began the run, he colored it a watery red as he rinsed the blade, watching as it swirled and sunk into the drain. 

Everything smelled... _bad_ , like blood and metal; like a candle that smelled like copper pennies. Everything also smelled like mint and cigarettes and felt like hands grasping him by the shoulders and forcing him to sit on the bathroom floor, no matter how cold it was. 

"Did you think you could hide this from me?" It was a simple question but Neil's mouth was quiet frankly as dry as his mothers bones. A disturbing thought. 

Andrew wasn't supposed to be here. He should be with the others at Eden's -- Neil hadn't wanted to go, he'd made up an excuse about going on a run. The others seemed to believe it enough so he should have been suspicious when Andrew stayed behind and just… stared at him for a few seconds. Like he could read Neil's destructive thoughts. 

In the end, all he could mutter was, "What time is it?" He thought for a brief moment that Andrew would put his head through the wall. It would certainly be an appropriate reaction. Instead, he reached out, slowly so Neil could move away if he wanted, and slicked the tangled mess of Neil's sweaty hair back against his scalp. 

"The others aren't here. They're with Matt and Dan. Let me clean your arms." His voice wasn't gentle but it wasn't demanding and accusatory like Neil had expected. He just seemed… like Andrew. 

Neil tried to move, to get to his feet but Andrew who had begun to dig through the medicine cabinet looked at him with a chilly glare and Neil remembered that he was, in fact, in trouble. 

"How mad are you," Neil asked, wondering if his words were as slurred as they sounded to him. His tongue was lead against the back of his teeth and he sort of wished he had some ice cream. "Be honest."

"I'm-" Andrew pressed a rag against Neil's arms, ignoring Neil's hiss of pain - "extremely pissed." He'd figured. "But, I understand. I'm not happy about it, but I understand." He looked at Neil with a blank expression, hazel eyes scorching a warning into his flesh. "You do this again and I'll kill you. I'll tell Wymack and you won't play Exy until it makes you go crazy, you junkie."

Neil sighed, his shoulders sagging with the action as if he'd let an entire world slide off his shoulders. 

"Yes or no?" 

"Yes." 

Neil didn't go for a kiss or even try to touch Andrew's hair -- he was much too bloody for that -- but he simply let his forehead rest against Andrew's clavicle. He was well aware he was sweaty but Andrew didn't seem to mind. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I thought I told you I don't like when you apologize. I don't care if you're sorry. Don't do it again." 

"Okay." And Neil, even if pain was familiar, wanted to keep that promise. 

It took a moment longer for Andrew to clean and dress Neil's arms with bandages all while Neil sat and watched, head pressed into his shoulder. He watched the blood get washed away, leaving nothing but angry red gashes in his flesh that made him feel slightly sick. He still didn't understand his father's obsession with knives. They hurt. Maybe that was the reason. 

When Andrew managed to get Neil to his feet, he all but carried Neil into the living room where he guided him down onto the couch. 

"I'll be right back," Andrew said as he switched the TV on, remote bouncing against the couch as he tossed it down. Exy played on the screen and Neil would have to be blind and deaf not to hear Andrew mutter _junkies_ and roll his eyes as he walked towards the kitchen. 

He disappeared and then, seconds later, he appeared again, a tub of ice cream in his hand. He shook it at Neil, the edges of his lips tilting upwards in a way that Neil was sure only he noticed. 

"Oo, ice cream," Neil said, a smile uncurling on his face. He wasn't okay, per se, but he did feel okay at the moment -- even with the dull throbbing in his wrists that Andrew soothed away with a painkiller and a glass of water. 

Andrew dropped onto the couch beside him and squeezed the carton before popping the lid away, "It's a new flavor." Neil stared at him for a moment, trying not to look too shocked because _wow. Andrew was kinda beautiful._ Beautiful with all his golden hair and his big fucking arms and all his missing pieces. 

"You take the first bite," Neil said before Andrew could snap at him for staring, "If it's bad, you're gonna sacrifice yourself first." 

"Wow, heroic." 

"I know."


End file.
